


Kinda I Want To

by Ywain Penbrydd (penbrydd)



Category: Shadow Unit
Genre: Anonymous Sex, Bisexuality, Drunk Sex, For Science!, Light Angst, M/M, One Night Stands, Wall Sex, questionable decisions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-05 14:35:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16812607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penbrydd/pseuds/Ywain%20Penbrydd
Summary: Recent events have pushed Chaz well past his limits, and the nightmares won't stop. In pursuit of complete exhaustion, in the hopes it'll let him get four or five hours of sleep, he lets Hafidha talk him into going to a new nightclub, where he intends to drink until he stops caring and dance until he drops.Drink, dance, fuck, sleep. He hoped.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [ambiguously_anomalous](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/ambiguously_anomalous) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Chaz has always considered himself heterosexual, until one night out at a club with Hafidha.  
> Straight guys don't generally end up railing hot young twinks up against the wall, right?
> 
> Or, hot sex leads to Chaz figuring out he's bi.

The club was called Bangkok, which was a terrible pun and a fantastic name for a gay bar. Pity it wouldn't last. Nothing did, here. This was the fourth gay bar to open in the same spot in a little more than a year. But, this one had a goth night, and it was much less far than the other goth night Chaz was sure still existed. These things came and went -- one club stopped hosting, another one picked up the same event; two djs got into a fight and suddenly there were two clubs hosting at the same time on the same night; the house dj retired or left town, and then there was nothing for a while, while everyone scrambled. So, tonight, a gay bar.  
  
This one had been a rival dj split, so he didn't recognise too many faces in the thin crowd, outside. There were a shitton of queens he didn't know, and most of them looked fantastic. He had no idea how a person could spend that much time and effort getting ready to go out dancing, every week, but it was impressive. The girls were gorgeous, but the queens were ... a whole other level. They almost reminded him of parade floats, but far more enjoyable to watch. Which was something he'd never say, just like he'd never admit to thinking he looked like a starved greyhound and wondering at the apparent appeal.  
  
The girls... he knew none of them, which made things a lot less awkward, in some ways. Except Hafs, of course -- he knew her and she always made things more awkward, usually intentionally, just to watch him squirm. He took in the blue neon on the walls, as they walked in, and the tacky South Asian styled decor, and decided he'd be getting irresponsibly drunk. Hafs could drive home, as little enthused as he was with the idea.  
  
Chaz turned toward the bar and Hafs grabbed his arm.  
  
"Oh, no, you don't. No drinking until we're at least three songs in."  
  
Chaz pulled out his keys and put them in Hafidha's hand, leaning down next to her ear, so he wouldn't have to raise his voice. "I'm drinking. You're driving home."  
  
The confusion passed almost as quickly as it arrived, and Hafidha's eyebrow crept up. "Oh, really. _You're_ drinking."  
  
"Not enough to do something actually stupid. Just... maybe enough to stop feeling like I just slipped through a time warp into the eighties. This place has everything but Yul Brynner."  
  
"You are much too tall for it to be the eighties." Hafidha laughed and pulled him toward the dance floor. "Come on. Three songs, and then you'll know if we're just leaving."  
  
"It's the opening set!" Chaz protested, letting himself be pulled onto the floor. "The opening set always sucks! You can't judge a club until the second hour, and I just want a drink before I have to face an hour of new wave!"  
  
"You like new wave," Hafidha reminded him.  
  
"Only after the second drink!"

* * *

Half an hour in, the first set was at least improving, even if he wasn't ready to call it good. The first set inevitably sucked and deviations from that were suspect. Still, there was Bowie, and he and Hafidha had cleared almost a quarter of the floor around themselves -- a danger zone of flying limbs and sudden twirls. For the most part, they looked a lot more dangerous than they were, both of them with the split-second reflexes the combination of the Anomaly and their hobbies granted them. But, no one here knew them. Not really. Not as more than 'someone I might have seen at another club one time'.  
  
Time... He still hadn't admitted to Hafidha what he'd done. He hadn't told anyone and he probably never would. There was nothing to be gained by talking about it -- and was that a lesson he'd taken from Reyes? Probably not. Not that he could be sure. Still something to consider.  
  
Chaz let the music lead him. Dancing didn't require thought, and he knew most of what would get played in a club like this so well, it barely even required paying attention. And then the song trainwrecked into the next, and much like the rest of the club, he stopped to stare at the booth.  
  
Hafidha tugged at his arm, pulling him down enough to hear her. "Is that Brad? That sounded like a classic Brad."  
  
"There's no way. How the fuck old is Brad, now? Didn't he have like... twenty years on us? Maybe it's one of his groupies." Chaz shook his head in disgust. "I just had to hear that, and you reminded me Brad exists. I'm gonna go drink myself into sweet oblivion." By which he meant three drinks at the absolute most. He'd still be perfectly functional, he just wouldn't care nearly as much about anything, which was the entire purpose of coming out, tonight -- to stop caring for a little while, to get a little drunk and a lot exhausted, and hopefully sleep like the dead, when it was all over.  
  
Hafidha watched his face for a moment, and then a smile curled across her own. "You're trying to get laid, aren't you? It's not the drink, it's the crush by the bar."  
  
Chaz offered a slow shrug and an innocent look. It hadn't crossed his mind, but sure, he'd go with that. Maybe it would help him sleep. He'd been back for months, and his skin still fit wrong, he could still see that sweet face twisted with fury as she realised what she'd become, what he'd made her. He hadn't see it, but he dreamed it every night. He woke up with her hands like talons on his neck, but she was never there. She wouldn't be. They'd never met; not this time. They were just the faces in each other's nightmares.  
  
Turning him toward the bar, Hafidha gave him a firm swat on the ass. "Go get some. I promise not to go for the bathroom until I see your face again."  
  
He turned around to protest, eyes round as he sputtered, but she was fluttering her fingers at him, already stepping backward into the crowd that had filled in around them, once they stopped moving.

* * *

By the time Chaz hit the bottom of the second drink, he was thinking about the third. Hafidha had been right about the crush, and he was intensely aware of all the eyes and hands on him. It was inevitable, even in a place where the aesthetic was six-foot-something and anorexic. Possibly especially, rather than even. But, he didn't need the mirror to know he didn't like what he was being offered. He'd learned to recognise the way the hunger in their eyes turned sharp with pride or that gaping greed of a cat watching a cheeseburger get unwrapped. Or worse, the hollowness and hope that said they were looking for so much more than he was willing to give, even when he'd had a habit of looking for something more than just the night.  
  
But, there was no one he knew, and that was reassuring. There was no one trying _again_. That was always awkward. It was always nice to be appreciated, but where was the line between an appreciation of a good time and attachment? After what he'd done, attachment was the last thing he wanted. Some things, he never wanted to face again. He'd gotten lucky, once, and he wouldn't get that kind of lucky again.  
  
He managed to squeeze himself into a space at the bar and ordered another drink. He shouldn't have done that to his bank account, but at this point, it was practically medicinal. If he didn't get an entire night's sleep at some point soon, he was going to lose his mind completely. And no one knew what had happened. And he couldn't talk about it, because none of it was real. Drink, dance, fuck, sleep. He hoped.  
  
A voice next to him interrupted his reverie with a whistle and a remark meant to take his measure. "Three drinks, huh? Fight with your girlfriend?"  
  
Chaz eyed the guy asking -- spiky blond hair with pink tips, lip gloss, the slightest bit too wide to be anomalous, at least in the long term, and leaning against the bar in a Chemlab shirt with the sleeves ripped off and jeans that looked painted on. "What girlfriend?"  
  
"That bad, huh? The one you came in with." The guy swirled his drink and took a sip, something blue that only looked bluer in the neon over the bar.  
  
"That's not my girlfriend." Chaz's eyes sparkled with amusement, and his lips squirmed, trying to hold off a laugh. "That's my _sister_."  
  
"Man comes to a dance club with his _sister_." The guy studied Chaz, decisions and assumptions clicking into place behind his eyes. "Well, in that case, you want to slip away from the family for a few minutes and see if you're as good as you look on the dance floor?" He snatched a condom from the bowl on the bar and flicked it, trying to land it in front of Chaz, but the bartender managed to set Chaz's drink down, right in its path.  
  
For a moment, the three of them just stared at the black plastic square floating in the drink.  
  
"Do you... need me to make you another?" the bartender asked, finally, and Chaz laughed like the world was burning down around him, eyes on the side of his hand, elbow on the bar.  
  
"It's alcohol; I'll live," Chaz managed, still cackling, cheeks red with it.  
  
As Chaz finally managed to pull himself together and lift his head, the guy beside him called back the inquiry with a small shrug and a raised eyebrow. He opened his mouth to say no, to say that wasn't his girlfriend, but he still swung that way, and he stopped, eyes caught in the limited space between them, mouth half-open as his brow folded. Really, it wasn't that he hadn't considered it, but he'd considered it much like he considered serial murder or shaving his legs -- it was an important thing to come to terms with, while trying to understand how other people worked. On the other hand, he'd approached women in much the same way, at first -- other men liked them, and he should probably figure out what the fuss was about. Turned out he rather appreciated the benefits of _that_ study. And at some point, he'd sold himself on the idea that it was enough, that there was nothing else to want, physically, sexually. That anything else, anything more, was just asking for trouble, when he'd been so careful to keep his head down.  
  
Depeche Mode gave way to Nine Inch Nails, in the background -- _I can't shake this feeling from my head..._ He took it as a sign and looked up, eyes clear.  
  
"That's a no, isn't it..." The guy watched him, one eye squinting as he drew that conclusion. "People don't take that long to say yes."  
  
A thin smile stretched across Chaz's face, and he tossed his drink back in one swallow, catching the condom in his teeth. "Who says I'm people?" he asked, condom held between two long fingers as he licked the wrapper clean. "Fifteen minute man, not a five minute man, so choose wisely."  
  
The guy smiled back, almost catlike, eyes glittering with anticipation. "Five bars ago, the door was on the other side of the building, and there's still a coat check."  
  
"After you." Chaz gestured away from the bar, condom vanishing into his arm warmer, mid-gesture.


	2. Chapter 2

Strawberry. The lip gloss was strawberry, Chaz discovered, in the pitch black of the former coat check. He thought he used to date a girl who used the same brand, but then he wasn't sure if that was his memory. The funny thing about not sleeping was that it erased a lot of those distinctions, at least in the short term. But, there was hot tongue and the past tense of coconut liqueur in his mouth, and the only memory he really cared about was the one he was in the middle of making.  
  
He'd been afraid, for a moment, that this wouldn't work -- that he wouldn't be able to do it, and he'd look like a horse's ass for trying. But, it didn't seem to matter, as long as the hands on him belonged to someone who smelled good, tasted good, and kissed like they wanted to drown in him. And those hands definitely knew what they were doing, quick under his shirt and softer by far than his own. He licked his lips and pulled back to say something about the scars, but changed his mind and leaned back down into the kiss. It wouldn't matter. They were in the dark. It was just one night.  
  
He didn't need to see -- in some ways, this was better, blind. No eyes, no judgement. There was just a slender, warm body pinned between him and the wall, a hot cock getting harder by the minute, against his thigh, as the man in his arms writhed and ground against him. Soft skin, so soft, so warm -- or maybe his hands were just cold. Again. As usual. But, none of the nearly inaudible sounds that had vibrated through his lips and tongue had been complaints, and those hands kept pulling him closer, until there was no closer to go.  
  
"Gonna fuck me, or you getting nervous?"  
  
Chaz could taste the words better than he could hear them, the breath behind them still sharp with alcohol as it washed over his tongue. He tipped his head to breathe a response against an ear he couldn't see, the smell of cheap hairspray and artificial vanilla filling his mouth. "Who says that's an either-or?"  
  
The laugh that followed came back sharp against his cheek, and short, sharp nails dragged down his chest, those fingers squeezing his hips, before they pulled open his zipper. "You're just all bone, aren't you?"  
  
"I've heard that's what makes me so popular," Chaz joked, the condom wrapper crinkling in his fingers as he opened it and figured out which end was up. "Do you have any--" He stopped when the edge of another plastic packet poked him in the back of the hand. "Thanks."  
  
"No lube? Losing points there, Lord Byron."  
  
"Byron? _Me_?" Chaz felt the other half of this inadvisable tryst wriggle out of those skin-tight jeans.  
  
"You've definitely got that sexy power-sulk thing going." A thin laugh. "I don't know you, and I don't want to. Byron's as good a name as any."  
  
"Power. Sulk." Chaz felt the body in front of him turn toward the wall and followed, pinning him there. "Oh, _thanks_ , Shelley. So kind."  
  
"Shelley! You're an _ass_!"  
  
"I hear that a lot."  
  
"More like Polidori!"  
  
"Don't know you, and don't want to unless it's in the biblical sense," Chaz purred, getting a handful of ass for his trouble. The other thing they lacked, he realised, was something to wipe his hand on. That was, he supposed, the benefit of bathrooms, but bathrooms were a little more public than he wanted to try for, his first night in a new club.  
  
Though this wasn't something he'd done, he knew the anatomy well enough to make a good show of it. Turning his hand, Chaz curled his fingers slightly, and was instantly rewarded with an incoherent garble of sound that contained 'oh my god' somewhere in the middle. He could feel the weight shift at the weak-kneed wobble, a desperate groan accompanying a slow hard push back against him.  
  
"God, I knew you'd be good. I could see it."  
  
And Chaz wondered, briefly, what the hell 'good' looked like, because it was definitely not what he saw when he looked at himself. And that thought didn't belong here. He was definitely not going to be able to keep it together with that in his head.  
  
"Just _fuck me_!" the breathy voice in front of him demanded, and that definitely helped.  
  
"Say it again."  
  
"Fuck me! If you're gonna do it, fucking _do it_. God, you fucking _tease_!"  
  
Tease ... that was a first. He was usually a little straight to the point for most people. Sliding his fingers out, Chaz wiped them on the inside of his thigh pocket, figuring that even if it didn't come out in the wash, at least no one would see the stain there. With a long breath, he pressed forward, lining himself up, fingertips first, teasing just a little more, until he felt the inhale that preceded another sharp remark. And then he pushed in, just enough to show he would.  
  
He needn't have worried -- that first inch was met with a firm shove back, and his first thought was that this was much too tight, not half wet enough. And then those hips rolled against his own and he slid in even deeper. He might've made a sound -- he had no idea. It was a good thing the lights were off; he probably looked poleaxed. He could feel it in his face, but his face was much less interesting than what he could feel in his hands. That smooth skin went all the way down, and Chaz was so sure there were places one wasn't meant to put depilatory creams, but he couldn't find it in him to complain at the results, as he wrapped his hand around the hard--  
  
A cock. It was someone else's cock, and the sooner he could face that, the better off he'd be.  
  
Still, there was a certain freedom in that. It was a cock, and he knew what to do with one of those.  
  
He let his body fall into a rhythm it knew, adjusting the pace and the angle as the body he was buried in moved against him. Once he got used to it, once he just let himself enjoy it, he could tell this was a good experience that was only going to get better. Still, he kept a tight grip on the mirror. He was curious, but not curious enough to take a chance like that. Not curious enough to ruin a good time, if he slipped even a little. But, given the sounds of desire and the hand with the death-grip on his belt loop, the other side of this was just as good, if not better. Another night, maybe. If he could find someone tall enough.  
  
Harder, faster, and his breath picked up until they were both panting, sweat-soaked. Nothing mattered outside the space between Chaz's ass and the wall in front of him, the desperate, rhythmic clench around him, the dizziness that came of breathing recycled air.  
  
"God, yes, give it to me!" A low, guttural moan followed the panted words, and the sound of it shot straight up Chaz's spine.  
  
The first flash of white broke behind his eyes, a ghost of light in the darkness, as his legs tensed enough he had to concentrate to keep his hips in motion. But, he managed, hard and raw and needful, as he pounded into the man between him and the wall. He wasn't going to last, and his hand picked up its pace to compensate. That first pulse between his fingers and his palm was a thrill, and though he couldn't hear the first spatter hit the floor, as he wrung it out, he knew where it would land, how it would hit. It was always a rush, making someone else come, but this time it felt so familiar, at once like he'd cheated, but also like he'd achieved something of value, some token of worth.  
  
And then the second flash of white wiped out that entire train of thought. After a moment, he realised those tiny choked sounds were stuck in his own throat and he couldn't seem to stop them, however unflatteringly desperate they sounded. But, he felt good -- he felt so fucking good he could almost believe everything was all right. That low heat, that sweet tension, and his head tipped back as his hands tightened around hips almost as sharp as his own, pulling that lean body back against him as he shuddered and throbbed.  
  
Maybe Hafs had been right, he thought, raising his cleaner hand to shove his hair back as he panted at the ceiling, utterly stunned. Maybe she was right, and all he'd needed was to get laid.  
  
Catching his breath, he eased himself out, slowly, tied off the condom, and dropped it into the pocket he'd already wiped his hand in, wiping his hand again.  
  
"Thank you." Chaz's voice made him sound exactly as stunned and breathless as he was, as he tucked himself back into his pants.  
  
"Thank me? Psssh." The man's voice was strained as he struggled to get his jeans back up from his knees. "You looked like a good time. I guessed right. A shame I'll do anything once and nothing twice."  
  
"Need a hand?" Chaz asked, at some breathy swearing.  
  
"I got this. I got into them once today; I can get into them again." An almost inaudible laugh slipped into a split-second break in the music outside. "Go on. Somebody's probably noticed we're missing, by now. _You_ , anyway."  
  
Chaz was exhausted, dizzy enough to stumble if he stopped paying attention, as he made his way back to the dance floor. But, he felt lighter than he had in months, the spring back in his step as he slid between two people, back onto the floor, winking at one as he spun away into the churning crowd, hoping to spot Hafidha. He found her sitting at a table at the far side of the dance floor, in the furthest corner behind the speakers -- the quietest spot in the club -- and he made his way across the floor in that half-dance, half-swagger that one did between point A and point B, when crossing a dance floor.  
  
As he spun and slid into the booth ass-first, Hafidha's eyebrows raised like they might crawl off her face. He fluttered his eyelashes at her, and watched that fail completely. Not that he'd thought it would help. He sat up and turned toward her, ready to remind her that getting laid had been her idea, when she got that look, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know what actually came next.  
  
Hafidha straightened up, clutched her hands in front of her, and leaned back, eyes and mouth slowly rounding. "Auntie Em! Auntie Em!" She wiggled her nose, but refrained from laughing at him.  
  
Chaz reached out and snatched her drink, finishing it. "Going to be like that, is it?"  
  
"Oh, you have _no idea_." This time, she laughed. "Do you know how long I've been waiting for you to figure that out?"  
  
"Less 'figure out', more 'care enough to bother trying'. I'm just going to write that off to drunken good ideas." Chaz shrugged, spinning the glass around his finger on the table.  
  
"As I recall, 'bother trying' would have amounted to saying yes, instead of no. It's even the same number of syllables."  
  
"Who are we? Where do we work? No is still easier, and I expect to say a lot more of it." Chaz fished an ice cube out of the glass and sucked on it. "It's the responsible decision."  
  
"I'm just going to have to get you irresponsibly drunk, more often." Hafidha looked over her glasses at him. "For your own good, of course."  
  
"Do I look like less of a disaster?" he asked. "Because I feel like more of a disaster, but in a good way. No, I feel good enough that I don't care if I'm a disaster. That's supposed to help, right?"  
  
"If you wake up, tonight, I'm hitting you with your favourite frying pan and calling you in sick, tomorrow."  
  
"Please no concussion." Chaz made the sad puppy face Hafidha had been immune to since the day they met, and it was no more effective this time than it ever was.


End file.
